Reflections of Yesterday

by Debbie Macomber

  “Are you hungry?” he asked, after an hour.

  Her stomach was in tight knots. “Not particularly.”

  “You know, if you don’t loosen up, someone might mistake you for a wooden Indian.”

  “Very funny.”

  Reaching out, Simon pressed a forefinger to the curve of her cheek. “None of this is the least bit amusing. Let’s find someplace to sit and talk.”

  Simon chose the restaurant. Angie was too wrapped up in her feelings to notice the name. The hostess directed them to a table in the sun and handed them large menus. Angie couldn’t have choked down soup, let alone an entire meal. This meeting was awkward and unpleasant. Yet Simon appeared oblivious to it all. With the least amount of encouragement, he looked as though he would pull her into his arms and kiss her senseless. Angie was determined that he wouldn’t get that opportunity.

  Simon studied the menu without reading a word. This wasn’t going well. He had spent the morning finding out everything he could about Glenn Lambert. The man had a good reputation as a stockbroker and investor, and was coming up in the largest brokerage firm in Charleston. More important was the fact that Glenn loved Angie. They both did. Under different circumstances, Simon would have liked the man. Lambert was an experienced gambler, but he was a fool to risk losing Angie. Now it was up to Simon to press that to his advantage. Too much was at stake to lose her again.

  The waitress arrived, and Simon ordered the special of the day, not knowing what it was. Angie ordered the same. Maybe they would both be surprised, he thought.

  “When did you cut your hair?” Simon didn’t know why he asked that, but anything was better than the tense silence between them.

  Angie spread the starched linen napkin across her lap. It gave her something to do with her fingers as she composed her thoughts. She then lifted her gaze, looking directly into Simon’s eyes. “A long time ago. I don’t remember when.”

  He acknowledged her answer with a brief nod.

  “When did you cut down the tree?” She had neither the time nor the patience to skirt around the issues.

  His fingers tightened around the water glass. “Two years ago, June seventh.”

  Their anniversary. In a flash, Angie knew. She knew! Her breath jammed in her lungs as the knowledge seared her mind. He’d chopped down the tree because he couldn’t endure the agony of having it in the clearing as mute witness to her betrayal.

  She dropped her gaze, trying to find the words to comfort him, afraid that if she stated her true feelings it would complicate an already uncomfortable situation.

  “I don’t think we need worry,” she murmured, drawing in a long, quavering breath. “Our divorce wasn’t any more legal than our marriage.”

  A shadow of pain crossed his features. “It’s not that simple. I married you with my heart and discovered it was impossible to divorce you.”

  They each grew silent then, trapped in the muddy undertow of pain-filled memories.

  By the time their lunch arrived, Angie’s linen napkin was a mass of wrinkles from all the nervous twisting she had done. Simon had depleted his water glass twice.

  Simon was annoyed with himself at being so unnerved by this encounter. Angie hadn’t left his mind from the moment he had found her in the clearing last weekend. All week he had carried a clear picture of her in his mind. Now they sat like strangers, not knowing what to say. It was obvious that she was uncomfortable. For that matter, so was he. Silently he prayed; he didn’t want to lose her. She was everything he had always known she would be: sweet, fresh, vital. He adored her frankness, her spirit, her capacity to love.

  “How long have you known Glenn?”

  The question came at her from out of the blue, causing the tight line of her mouth to crack with the beginnings of a smile. They had come to bury the past, and Simon was already challenging the present.

  “We met two years ago when I invested the capital from the Petal Pusher.”

  “The what?”

  Deliberately, she set the fork down beside the plate. “For three years I had two businesses. Clay Pots and another I called the Petal Pusher.”

  “Petal Pusher? What was that?”

  “I made weekly visits to restaurants, doctors’ offices, or anyplace else that needed someone to come in and make sure their plants were healthy. It seems surveys prove that patients who wait in a doctor’s office with dead and dying plants sitting in the corner lose confidence in their physicians.”

  Simon was enthralled. The idea was a marvelous one. “What happened to the business?”

  Angie didn’t hesitate. “I sold it for a tidy profit. I invested most of it and put aside the ten I owed you.”

  “And that’s how you met Glenn.”

  “Right.”

  “You always were clever,” Simon said, and a thread of pride laced his words.

  For the first time that afternoon, Angie lowered her defenses. “I prefer to be thought of as intelligent. I simply found a need and filled it.”

  “Do you still play tennis?”

  Simon had taught her the strenuous game and lived to regret it. Less than six months after he demonstrated the proper method of holding the racket, she was beating him at his own game. “Twice a week. What about you?”

  “I’ve switched to racquetball. If you like, I’ll teach you that, too.”

  Glenn already had, but Angie preferred tennis. “No, thanks.” She made a show of looking at her watch. “I should be getting back. A teenager comes in part-time on Friday afternoons, and Donna likes to leave early.”

  “It’s barely two.” He studied Angie and made a conscious effort not to argue. “Will you have dinner with me tonight?”

  “Simon,” Angie said, and groaned. “It isn’t going to do any good to continue to see me. We’re different people now, with nothing in common except a lot of pain. I’d rather we buried it and went on with our lives.”

  “Fine. I want that, too, but I also want you in my life. Now and forever.”

  Clenching her fist, Angie deposited her napkin on the table and pushed back her chair to stand.

  “Tonight?”

  Glenn’s words echoed in the chambers of her mind. Neither of them wanted the shadow of Simon looming between them. “All right,” she agreed reluctantly.

  That evening, dressed in a Caribbean-blue linen suit, Angie nervously paced the living-room floor. She regretted having succumbed so easily to Simon’s wishes. Tonight was it, she argued silently with herself. She wouldn’t see him again. Every meeting was a strain-filled confrontation that left her facing nagging doubts she preferred to ignore. Yes, she agreed, Glenn was right to force her into doing this, but she hated it.

  Nervously she glanced at the wall clock. Clay had a habit of sometimes dropping by unannounced on Friday nights. The last thing she needed was to have him find her with Simon Canfield.

  She stood by the window of the second-story apartment and gazed to the lot below. From her position, she viewed Simon’s Mercedes pull into the parking lot. The vehicle looked incongruous with the cheaper models that filled the spaces. Unfolding his long, powerful legs, he climbed from behind the steering wheel, paused, and leaned over to retrieve a small box. Even from this distance, Angie recognized what it was. She should—she had seen others like it often enough. Simon—dear, wonderful, Simon—was bringing her a corsage. No one but him would think to do that for someone who owned a flower shop.

  Opening the apartment door, she stared at him, hardly able to believe what she saw and felt. Simon, who could afford to give her the most expensive orchids, had brought her a corsage of white roses and blue carnations, made in the very shape and color of the one he had given her for the junior-senior prom.

  Their eyes met in silent communication as he walked into the apartment.

  “Hello again,” he said, handing her the plastic container.

  Unshed tears glistened in her eyes. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” His look was full of warmth. �
�A boy remembers things, too.”

  Her fingers fumbled with the opening as she struggled to avoid his gaze.

  “There are a lot of other things I remember, including this.” He reached for her and slowly bent his head toward hers. She knew he was going to kiss her, but instead of pushing away, she lifted her face and met him halfway, seeking the proof that she needed. She loved Glenn, and what she had shared with Simon was over. His kiss would confirm that.

  Simon’s mouth caressed hers in a long, tender exploration, and Angie’s theory went soaring into space. Deepening the kiss, Simon shaped and molded her lips to his own. Angie realized that with the least resistance he would let her pull away at any time. Part of her was demanding that she do exactly that. Instead, she dropped the corsage and slipped her arms up and over his shoulders, her fingers seeking the patch of hair that grew at his nape.

  “Angie.” He groaned, weaving his fingers into the thick length of her hair. Then his hands cupped her face as he studied the doubtful, almost accusing light in her eyes. His slow smile was followed with equally unhurried, lingering kisses that caused her world to orbit crazily. Alternately, he tormented and teased her until she was only too happy to oblige him. His kisses became a sensuous attack that left her trembling uncontrollably and clinging to him with an unaccustomed helplessness. Sensation shot through her as he repeated the assault. His hands roamed her back while he intimately explored her mouth. Her mouth broke from his. “No more,” she pleaded.

  In response he crushed her tightly to the hard length of his body. At the same moment his mouth came down on hers, silencing the forming protest.

  Simon groaned again, louder, his lips leaving hers to explore her earlobe before blazing a path across her cheek, then covering her lips again. His hands released her and moved to the front of her, searing her flesh with every intimate brushing against the scented hollow of her throat. This newest intrusion penetrated Angie’s senses, and drugged with passion, she battled desperately for reality by jerking free. Immediately Simon relaxed his hold and Angie went stumbling backward.

  Expertly, Simon caught her in his arms and hauled her back into his embrace. “Okay, love, we’ll stop.” His voice was little more than a throbbing whisper as he rubbed his chin across the top of her head until their labored breathing had returned to normal. Color invaded her face.

  Simon took in a deep breath. “Do you have anything to drink here?”

  She answered him with a slow nod. His gaze followed hers into the minuscule kitchen.

  “Sit down, I’ll bring us both something.” She brought down the bourbon, and he poured them each a drink.

  Angie marveled at his control.

  “What does all this tell you, Angie?” he asked, as he sat beside her and handed her a drink. She stared at the ice cubes floating in the amber liquid. Bourbon. Oh no, bourbon reminded her of Glenn. She was engaged to Glenn and had allowed Simon to kiss her like that. She could have wept with shame.

  “Angie?”

  “It tells me,” she answered forcefully, “that I was a fool to let Glenn talk me into seeing you. I don’t want this.” Surging to her feet, she stormed across the room to the kitchen and dumped the contents of the drink in the sink. More than at any other time in her life she needed her wits. Being with Simon was enough to cloud her perception without adding alcohol. She thought she saw Simon’s mouth twitch, but when she narrowed her eyes and searched his face, he willingly met her gaze.

  “Something is funny?” she challenged.

  “I find it amusing that your attitude toward alcohol remains the same. As I recall, you were never angrier with me than the night Cal and I got drunk on moonshine.”

  “You nearly killed yourself.”

  “I didn’t know which was worse,” Simon said, chuckling, “your outrage or the headache I had the following morning.”

  “As it happens, I do have an occasional drink. Mostly wine.” Her smile was involuntary.

  “Good, I’ll order a bottle with our meal. Are you ready?”

  She hesitated and then said, “In a minute. I’d like to freshen up.” Whole lifetimes could pass and she’d never be ready for Simon, not the way he intended.

  It took far longer than a minute to repair the damage to her makeup. By the time she reappeared, Simon was standing, his drink empty.

  He drove to an elegant restaurant situated on a cliff overlooking the Charleston Peninsula. The specialty of the house was lobster, Angie’s all-time favorite food. It astonished her that he remembered these minor details about her.

  “You remember how much I love lobster.”

  “There isn’t a thing about you that I’ve forgotten,” he answered, as he closed the menu.

  “Not everything,” she said, and lowered her gaze. He couldn’t. It was impossible.

  “I remember that you wanted to name our first daughter after your mother, and we decided on Carolyn Angela Canfield. And we both liked the name Jeffrey, so if it was a boy we’d decided on Jeffrey Simon Canfield. A second boy was to be named Clay. We had it all planned, remember? Two boys and a girl.” His voice became low and thick, as if it hurt him to recall the intimate details of their early marriage.

  They sat across from each other at the narrow table, lost in each other’s eyes. Angie didn’t want to be sucked into the past and gestured irritably with her hand. “What about you and Carol? Why didn’t you have children with her?”

  Simon lowered his gaze. “I didn’t know if you’d found out about her. I’m glad you did; I wasn’t looking forward to explaining it. Marrying Carol was not my most shining hour. There was never any thought of children. We weren’t in love.”

  “Never?” The thought of Simon making love with another woman produced a surge of jealousy that threatened to choke her.

  “Never. What about you and Glenn?”

  Angie knew instantly what he was asking, but decided to play dumb. “Yes, we’re planning to have children. A house full, if Glenn has his say.”

  Simon blanched. “That’s not what I meant.”

  “It’s the only question I’m answering.”

  The wine steward arrived and began removing the cork from an expensive bottle of chardonnay. Simon’s attention remained riveted on Angie. He spoke at last: “Fair enough. We won’t mention Glenn again.”

  The meal was the best that Angie could remember. When Simon decided to be charming no one could resist him. Least of all Angie, who had dreamed of shared moments like this.

  From the restaurant they drove to a beach. Angie removed her shoes and they walked along the shore as dusk settled over the land. Fresh breezes blowing in off the peninsula cooled the evening. Simon attempted to take her hand, but she wouldn’t let him. Neither spoke. Angie felt content and melancholy, pensive and troubled, desolate and revived, as contrasting emotions swarmed at her from all sides. She had to think, to plan. There had to be some way to sort through these emotions. But not now. Not when Simon was at her side and it seemed as if twelve years had fallen away and she was seventeen again and so much in love that all was right in the universe.

  “My father has taken a turn for the worse,” Simon murmured, and looped an arm over her shoulder. She wanted to shrug it free, but discovered she enjoyed the warm, protected feeling it gave her.

  Pleased that she let him, Simon paused to drink in the fresh fragrance of her hair and press his cheek to the crown of her head.

  “I’m sorry about your father,” Angie whispered. Clay, for all his faults, was her only family. If anything happened to him, it would devastate her. Angie was uncertain how close Simon was to his father.

  “He’s been ill for several years now. I don’t imagine he’ll live another year. I’ve got to go back, Angie.” The appeal in his voice pierced her heart.

  “I know.”

  “Come with me.”

  “Simon, I can’t … My life is here now.”

  “I love you.”

  Dread weighed her heart. “I love you, too.” Her voi
ce throbbed with the admission. “I don’t think I could ever not love you. But that doesn’t make things right.”

  Turning, Simon gripped her shoulders. “Angie, of course it does.”

  She was close to tears. “We can’t go back.”

  “Why not?” he argued. “I love you, you love me, and baby makes three.”

  “What?” she exploded.

  Simon laughed and kissed her brow. “For the first time since I was eighteen, I’m aware of life. This afternoon I took a walk through the park near your shop. Children were laughing and playing and I stood watching their antics, thinking how much I want a child. Our child.”

  “Simon …”

  “No.” He pressed his forefinger to her lips, silencing her protests. “Hear me out. Two weeks ago if someone had suggested that I’d be talking about a family, I would have laughed in their face. I’d given up that dream and a thousand others that we’d planned. I need you. My life is an empty shell without you there to share it with me.”

  Angie’s smile was rueful. “What can I do? My home is here. Clay Pots is here.”

  “Glenn is here.” Steel threads laced his words.

  “Yes. You may dislike him, but it was Glenn who forced me to go back to Groves Point.”

  “You were planning to come anyway, or else you wouldn’t have wanted to return the money.”

  “I was going to mail it. Never, at any time, did I intend on going back.”

  “You went to see my mother, didn’t you?” That was one thing that had troubled Simon. Georgia Canfield had known from the minute he’d stepped onto the garden patio the reason for his visit.

  “No. She saw me.”

  “What did she say?”

  “Nothing—she just wanted to be sure I wasn’t planning on intruding on your life.”

  Resentment seared through Simon and he squared his shoulders. His jaw was set with implacable determination. “Is she the reason you—”

  “No,” she assured him quickly. “It’s all of it. We accepted it twelve years ago even better than we do now. I’m from Oak Street and you live on Country Club Lane.”